Nuclear
by A Hopeful Voice
Summary: He grasps her hand in his, looking up at the stars with dismal eyes. He feels trapped on this planet with the threat of war looming from every direction. The entire world is at a standstill, refusing to act in fear of retaliation from any other civilized nation. He squeezes her hand and tries not to think of the future.


**Just a little something I've been working on for a while. Hopefully it's okay. Let me know what you think. Enjoy!**

* * *

**Nuclear**

He grasps her hand in his, looking up at the stars with dismal eyes. He feels trapped on this planet with the threat of war looming from every direction. The entire world is at a standstill, refusing to act in fear of retaliation from any other civilized nation. The innocent are left to wait until they are drafted into the armed forces or until someone acts.

It started in the Middle East. Tired of the meddling Western world, an attack was sprung in North Korea. Blaming the Americans, South Korea was invaded, forcing the hand of the United States military. Russia fought to protect their allies, enlisting the Middle Eastern nations with Soviet history. Europe exploded into a hot zone where anything could happen. It was worse than the Cold War. Missile-carrying satellites orbited the planet, ready to fire within five minutes.

They stand atop a hill on the outskirts of Manchester, the last night they have together before being separated for an indeterminable amount of time. She shivers, and he pulls her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her despite the warm summer air. It's the thought of being torn apart that is chilling. Those with powerful familial connections were swiftly leaving the country for Australia and Canada and Switzerland, neutral countries with ample hiding places.

Vitex had become a lucrative company with resources all over the world, particularly once it established a firm partnership with the Torchwood Institute, a government security agency. In thirty-six hours, she will be in Australia with her mother, and he will be in an undisclosed location doing analytical work for the government.

He squeezes her hand and tries not to think of the future.

* * *

The first time he met Rose Tyler, she was twelve years old and it was snowing. His family, a rich and influential dynasty known for its propensity for power, was financially backing a charity function to provide Christmas presents for underaged children.

He had volunteered to help with the event, unlike the rest of his family, who had always had more of a laissez-faire attitude. Having grown up spending half the year in London and half the year on his family's estate in Gallifrey, he was not unfamiliar with the East End and the sort of lifestyle lived there. He was not, however, prepared to see the character of the people at the event.

Of course, there were the parents who would probably try and return the clothing and toys donated to their children for the money and the children who would never be grateful for what they'd been given.

Rose Tyler wasn't like that at all. The first time he laid eyes on her, he was twenty-four and tired of his mundane life. Seeing her playing with the younger children instead of scoffing in the corner with the other children her age, he was intrigued as to her character. She had mousy brown hair and crooked teeth and a bright smile. He was twice her age, but he knew she had to be spectacular.

He was in charge of handing out the packages of gifts to the children and their parents, and was growing somewhat bored, his mind continually drifting to the book he was reading on astrophysics and quantum mechanics. Just a bit of light reading to get through part of the holiday season, really.

When someone said, "Rose Tyler," he absentmindedly accepted the first of several gifts being given to the child who approached next. She stood in front of him, and it may have been disturbing in hindsight, but he knew she was destined for great things.

The final gift was passed to him: a red bicycle. When the girl saw it, she smiled brightly up at him and accepted the last present with a small, "Thank you." She left, and within two days, she was forgotten.

Or so he thought.

* * *

The second time he met Rose Tyler, she was sixteen and it was raining. He had a brilliant memory and thought he recognized her, but didn't want to seem creepy since he couldn't place her face. She was dancing at a club in a short skirt with a bloke who didn't look like a very nice young man. The two met at the bar, both ordering the same drink. She smiled at him, and he smiled at her, and they made small talk.

The third time he met Rose Tyler, she was eighteen and it was sunny. He had a girlfriend at the time, but she was visiting family in France, leaving him alone to attend a work function on his family's behalf. His family had started making an investment in a new product called Vitex, and this event was being staged to introduce the drink to the public along with several new investments his father had made.

He spent forty minutes following the CEO of Adipose Industries around, not entirely convinced her organization was ethical, but eventually grew bored of hearing about the new weight loss capsule. Even his unintentional flirting with the owner of the Forest of Cheem, a new environmental law firm, became old. All in all, it was not an entirely exciting way to spend his thirtieth birthday. (He'd much rather be in bed with his beautiful French girlfriend).

Pete Tyler, inventor of Vitex, was engaged in a fascinating conversation with him, until a worried look crossed his face as his gaze was fixed at someone approaching. He sensed a small presence beside him, and Pete immediately said, "May I introduce my daughter, Rose?"

He looked down at the petite blonde next to him and was instantly concerned with the dark circles under eyes that she'd failed to entirely cover up. "John Smith," he said, extending his hand to the young woman. She took it and gave his hand a quick shake, dropping it like he burned her.

Pete was quick to amend, "Mr. Smith here is the son of the owner of Rassilon, Incorporated."

"Please," he interrupted, "call me John."

A blonde woman across the room shouted, "Pete!" and the man made his apologies as he walked away. Rose looked uncomfortable for a minute, swaying awkwardly as she debated fleeing or staying put.

Ultimately, she didn't have a chance to do either, because John quickly said, "It's a bit stifling in here. Fancy getting some air?"

Her eyes flicked up to his and she shrugged. They walked outside, and he wondered if she was always this shy. They were alone in the courtyard outside the ballroom, and Rose quickly made her way to the edge of the reflecting pool, opening her clutch and pulling out a box of cigarettes and a lighter.

"Those'll kill you, y'know," he said, staying close to her for reasons unknown. In retrospect, he probably felt drawn to her because of their past meetings, but he couldn't have known that at the time.

She had a small voice as she answered, "Not such a bad way to go."

He gave a bitter sort of laugh. "Yeah, if you don't mind practically choking to death." She ignored him, and he felt like he had gone too far. "I'm sorry. That's me in a nutshell, you'll find. _Well_, not actually in a nutshell, they're far too small. I'm a bit tall with the wingspan of a pterodactyl, so it'd have to be a massive nutshell for me to be in, and it'd be a bit pointless for a human being to be in a nutshell as we're not nuts and-" He paused, realizing that he'd started to ramble. "I'm sorry. I have a bit of a gob. And I'm a bit rude. My girlfriend is always telling me to stop talking and find something better to do with my mouth, like s-Oh, I suppose that's a bit inappropriate."

The corners of her mouth quirked up in a smile and John felt quite chuffed.

"See, these parties aren't all bad. I mean, yeah, they're dull as hell and really need more than champagne, but if you find the right company, everything'll be fine and it'll be over before you know it." John grinned at her and put a hand on her shoulder.

She flinched and he retracted his hand like he'd touched a hot coal. Rose instantly looked sheepish, rolling her shoulder back and saying, "Sorry, I had a bit of a fall. My boyfriend and me got new curtains an' I was up on a footstool and I fell. I'm such a klutz, really, I should've listened when he wanted to do it, but I wanted to make him proud of me. I'm okay, really."

John narrowed his eyes at her. Not to brag, but he was an excellent judge of character, and she was _textbook_ lying. He may not have been a psychologist, but surely it was common knowledge to know that the devil was in the details or something like that.

Rose refused to meet his eyes, staring across the gardens with her cigarette centimeters from her lips. A breeze ruffled his hair and made the sleeve on her raised arm flutter and dip. In the movement, he caught sight of a particularly nasty looking bruise.

Having always been told he had no respect for personal boundaries, he didn't think as he reached for her arm, catching her by surprise and making her drop her cigarette. John pushed up her sleeve and gripped her wrist, his strong fingers holding her firmly in place even as she tried to yank her arm out of his grip.

"This looks nasty," he said, studying the large purple mark on her arm. "How the hell did this happen?"

"Told you," she said, a little too quickly, "I fell."

His eyes flicked up to meet hers. "This sort of thing doesn't happen from a fall. It looks almost like a handprint." After a few more seconds of gingerly inspecting the injury, he released her arm and asked, "Rose, did your boyfriend do this?"

She chewed a spot on her bottom lip and when she spoke, he could see that she seemed to pick at that spot quite regularly, if the way it was red and chapped was anything to go by. "It was an accident. 'e didn't mean it. Jimmy's a nice guy, really."

John hardly knew this woman, but he was concerned. "You know you don't have to stay with him if he hurts you."

Rose looked away sharply. "What the hell do _you_ know? You don't even know me or him an' you certainly don't have the right t' tell me how to live my life."

"You're right," he said calmly. "I don't. But I'm intelligent enough to know how these sorts of relationships work. You seem like a smart girl, Rose. Surely you'll agree with me. Maybe not now, but eventually."

"I love him."

"Maybe," John said, "but it doesn't look like he loves you."

Rose shot him a glare; if looks could kill, he'd be dead twice over. "Go to hell."

When she looked away, John sighed and turned to walk back inside, but not without deftly sliding one of his business cards into her open clutch.

* * *

He looks down at the beautiful woman before him, and can't have space between them any longer. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulls her against his chest like he'll never let her go, like he doesn't have mere hours before she's taken from him for God knows how long.

Tears fill his eyes and he refuses to let them fall, choosing to rest his chin on the top of her head as she buries her face in his jacket. "I don't wanna leave you," she mumbles against his chest.

"I don't want to go," he replies.

* * *

She called him four months after that night, hesitantly asking him if he'd like to get coffee. They met at a tiny shop on a Tuesday afternoon, and both got tea instead of coffee. "I just wanted to apologize," she said to him. "I was rude to you that night, and you were right. I ended things with Jimmy. It was hard, and I'm not over him yet, but it's over."

John shook his head. "No, I was wrong. It wasn't my place to say any of that."

Rose looked up and gave him a slow smile. "I guess we were both wrong."

He laughed, and she joined in, and it was the first of many meetings. They spent more and more time together, until he finally gathered the courage to ask her out to dinner. They ended up narrowly avoiding disaster at a sci-fi themed restaurant and ended up going out for chips. Only when they were at the chippy did John realize he'd left his wallet at home.

It was then that Rose asked, "Whatever happened to your girlfriend?"

John paused to collect his words in the politest way possible, and said, "She met another man. He was married, but richer than I, and could give her more. We parted amicably," before taking a long drink of his tea.

Rose shoved a chip in her mouth, and chewed obnoxiously. "Well, it's all for the best, I guess."

He smiled at her. "Yeah, I guess so."

That night, he walked her home, and tried to gather up the courage to kiss her, but couldn't. He was a coward, and always wondered if the twelve year age gap was too much for her. (She never thought so.) After an awkward pause in the conversation in front of her door, Rose raised up on tiptoe and pressed a light kiss to his cheek before quickly ducking inside.

They officially dated casually for two and a half months, until he finally let slip, "This is my girlfriend, Rose," when at another work function. She'd stared at him, surprised, for several moments, until they managed to leave the main room and wander the garden maze of the new Tyler mansion.

"So," she said, lacing her fingers through his, "girlfriend, huh?"

He used his free hand to tug on his ear. "Well, uh, I mean, it just-er, well, I didn't-"

Rose rolled her eyes and stopped walking. He looked down at her, but found he didn't have much time to actually see her, because she had a hand wrapped around his neck and had her lips pressed to his in seconds. John froze in shock, and didn't even register that _Rose was kissing him_ until she had pulled away.

Flushing bright red, Rose wouldn't meet his eyes and stammered, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have, I just thought-"

He effectively shut her up by covering her lips with his own, wrapping his arms around her waist to pull her close.

Six more months passed with lots of snogging and maybe a little more, and Rose was lingerie shopping for their special date that night (finally, she'd grown confident enough to have sex with John; not that she didn't trust him, it was just that she still had nightmares about Jimmy) with her best mate, Shareen, when she got an urgent call from her father.

And that was the moment the world ended.

* * *

They watch the sun rise over the ocean, the serenity impeded by the engines of military planes and helicopters. He loves her, even if he's always been too much of a coward to tell her. Maybe now he'll have the strength. He could die tomorrow and she would never know. _(Oh, she knows.)_

The coast is empty, save a Land Rover with Rose's family inside and a motor boat that will take them to the aircraft carrier their plane is on. She stands in his arms, trying not to think of how she could quite possibly never see him again. She _loves_ him, and wants to spend the rest of her life with him.

He tries not to think of the hours he'd spent in jewelry stores looking for the perfect ring. To stall their inevitable goodbye, he squints in the bright light of the sun shining from the other side of the grey clouds and imagines the breeze carrying the two of them away where they'll be safe forever.

She breaks the silence first. "I never got around to tellin' you. The last three days have been so crazy." Has it really only been three days since the end of the world? "Mum's pregnant. Three months gone. More Tylers on the way. Just hope Dad's there when the baby comes."

He wants to say something-anything-but can't think of the words, so he holds her even closer and presses his lips to the crown of her head. But all too soon, her father is taking hold of her arm and leading her away from him to get in the boat. Rose immediately begins to sob, and has to be physically restrained by her mother and one of the UNIT soldiers in the boat to keep from jumping out.

Pete helps push them out to sea, and soon the roar of the engine drowns out even the waves. Rose grips the edge of the boat and knows that this is her last chance. It takes several tries to even get sound out of her throat, but she finally is able to speak. Yelling back to the beach, back to the man with the wind blowing through his hair, she cries, "I love you!"

He is knee deep in the water, running his hands through his hair. "Rose Tyler-"

But whatever the end of the sentence is, she can't hear it.

* * *

_John,_

_ Norway is incredibly dull, and definitely not Australia. Apparently Australia got threatened while we were en route and Dad wants us safe, so we're in a tiny little town in Norway called Darlig Ulv Stranden. The most interesting part is this long beach that reminds me of that place you were telling me about-Woman Wept. We'll have to go there someday. Anyway, the beach is the only cool thing here, but I can't stand to go out there because it reminds me of the last time I saw you._

_ I miss you. I know it's been two days since I last saw you, but I'm scared. Norway is supposedly safe, and sparsely populated enough that we're away from anyone who would target a major city. We're about fifty miles out of Bergen, and you can definitely tell. We're in the middle of bloody nowhere._

_ Mum's going through Eastenders withdrawals. It'd be funny if she weren't acting like a drug addict going through rehab. Anyway, it isn't like she won't ever see it again. Dad says that this'll blow over soon._

_ I think he's lying, but he knows better than I. I hope you're well and not having to do too much dangerous stuff._

_Love, Rose_

* * *

He sits on the edge of the runway, staring off into the grasslands. The savannah is dry and hot and he hates it. The only thing he hates more are guns, and a large rifle is in his hands as he watches a beetle crawl over his boot. War is hell, and he just wants to go home.

* * *

_John,_

_ Mum says I'm writing too much. Apparently one letter a week is too often. Sometimes I wonder if you're using the right address, because I haven't heard from you since February. I miss you a lot. The baby's almost here now. I wish you were here too._

_ Write me back, please. I love you._

_Rose_

* * *

Japan burned like his childhood home. He was on the last ship out, the only non-Japanese save a brilliant doctor named Martha Jones. She was engaged to be married to another doctor, and as the world often works in coincidences, John knew him in Africa. Tom Milligan went out into the savannah one day and never came back. He doesn't have the heart to tell her about the land mines. Lets her think it was illness. Maybe it's more ironic, but it's less painful. At least to him.

He grows tired of the screaming and crying filling his ears. He grows tired of war. He grows tired of hell.

* * *

_John,_

_ I don't even know if you're alive, but I'm still writing to you. Please write back._

_Love, Rose_

* * *

There isn't much he can do to keep himself occupied when flying to his next destination. And as soon as he lands in Argentina, he's going to get so pissed that he can't remember his name and certainly doesn't think of the unread letters in his bag. He wants to forget his past, forget the horrible things he's done.

Maybe when all of this is over, the world will forget him, too.

* * *

_John,_

_ England is gone. I think you are too. Mum throws men at me every chance she gets, saying that I need to move on. I can't even think about them when I'm still thinking about you. I hope you're happy. I'm not._

_Yours, Rose_

* * *

He thinks he looks ten years older than he actually is. It's probably the wrinkles from rubbing his hands over his face so much, but he really sees it in his eyes. He sees death and hate and pain reflected on his face, centered from his brown eyes.

He avoids mirrors now.

It was hard to believe at first, but this whole bloody war was not the fault of the terrorists in the Middle East. The North Korean attack was an accident, an electrical issue gone wrong in a nuclear power plant. Not unlike Chernobyl, but worse, for conclusions were jumped to and nothing can stop a rumor.

The war was nobody's fault. And yet it was everybody's. John himself had fought and killed and signed death warrants to people who were just as innocent as he. He'd lost everything dear to him because of a damn electrical issue.

But even once the truth was found out, war can't be stopped because crimes have been committed and desire retribution. Nothing comes without a cost. Of course, with half of the world destroyed and only a third of the population still surviving, the war fizzled out lest the entire planet become a burning rock of death.

It's been three years since he last saw Rose.

She's long since stopped writing to him, when his own work became too dangerous for him to reply. He couldn't risk putting her in danger. It was selfish, ignoring her, but necessary. If he had regular communication with her, he might have done something stupid.

Now, he's on a boat to Norway, on a quest to find the woman he loves. He hopes she still loves him.

* * *

Norway is bleak. He finds what's left of Bergen and makes his way to the village she described. It's a ghost town, but one little old woman remembers the pink and yellow girl with the heart of a wolf (or something like that-the real meaning may have been lost in translation). John thanks the old woman with a kiss on her wrinkled cheek, leaving almost immediately for Switzerland, where the Tyler family had moved.

* * *

Zurich is a mess. It takes several weeks, but John finally finds a database with records of the Tyler family. The rest of the digging takes more time, but he is finally able to find out some useful information. Pete and Jackie Tyler died in a zeppelin crash while on their way back to Zurich from the ruins of London.

Rose and Anthony (he assumed was the baby she mentioned) were sent to Germany when the country began to relocate its non-citizens. The records indicate their assigned destination as Garmisch.

* * *

He asks around the people in Garmisch, and is finally pointed in the right direction. A large estate in the mountains has housed refugees for six months, and people seem to believe (in his rusty German) that the blonde Brits are living there. It would be just like his Rose to make friends with the locals.

John arrives at the lodge just as the sun is setting. The main area is full of the elderly and children, and John approaches a couple playing chess. "Excuse me," he says in broken German, "I'm looking for Rose Tyler." The old couple exchange a glance and point behind him. "_Danke_," he says, and turns.

He scans the room, but sees no familiar blonde. His heart sinks, thinking that he's reached a dead end when there's a strangled cry from over by the large fireplace. John's eyes flicker over there, and he sees a thin woman with soft brown hair clutching her clasped hands against her mouth. Another cracked moan is heard, and he realizes belatedly that it's his own.

Everything about him feels heavy as he wades through imaginary water to find her. He can't get to her fast enough. And then she's just before him, and he suddenly has her in his arms. He's pressing kisses to every square inch of her face until he finally settles on her lips.

She's crying and he's crying and there's a tiny pair of arms wrapping around their legs but he doesn't care because he's _found her_. It took nearly a year of searching after the war until he found her, but he's never going to let her go now that he's got her.

"Oh, Rose Tyler," he manages to mumble against her hair as she buries her face in his chest, clutching at his worn shirt. "I love you so much."

His words make her cry harder, and he fights to keep her upright because she is loose in his arms. Minutes pass until she has calmed down, but he doesn't think that's any better. John just wants to cry and make everything how it was four years ago, back before Earth became Hell.

He can beg the universe, but it will never listen to him.

* * *

Later, they lie in bed, sweaty and sated. Her ear presses against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, his fingers drifting through her hair. They clutch each other, feeling like they have to hold onto this moment forever. Their breathing evens out eventually, and the light of the moon peeks from behind the thin drapes.

"I thought you were dead," she whispers.

It takes him a long time to answer. "I'm sorry." He says nothing else for what seems like hours, until he finally asks, "How long are you going to stay with me?"

Rose raises her torso just enough to look him in the eyes. "Oh, John Smith," she murmurs with the smallest but most meaningful of smiles, "forever."


End file.
